The Smell of Fear
by Annaleise Marie
Summary: [a/b/o] Alphas are collared by the government as part of the "Collar Initiative", to maintain control over their wild natures and to protect omegas from their more violent counterparts. That is, until the power grid fails. Sam watches the horror unfold, dumbstruck, and then he remembers his Alpha brother...now uncollared. [PWP] [kink; full list inside]
1. Part One

**The Smell of Fear  
**Annaleise Marie  
_cross-posted from livejournal  
__username: girlgotagun_

**Full List of Kinks**: public claiming, knotting, violence/agression, collars, submitting  
**WARNING**: Dub-con

**AN**: This story was originally written as a fill for a prompt in the December round on the spnkink-meme livejournal community. FFn doesn't allow links in documents, but if you want to see the original prompt you can check out my LJ, which is linked on my profile.

Also this was my first time writing a/b/o or anything like it so...be kind?

X

Sam knew about the Collar Initiative. Of course he did. He learned about it, like every other kid in the free world since the 1960s, in his high school freshmen history class. But even before that, he knew about it on some level. After all, his father and brother were both collared. He remembered the day that Dean got his collar. He thought it had been a punishment at first—a really weird one, maybe, because it was a bit much, even for John—because Dean had just gotten into a fight with their dad the night before. Not one of their usual fights, either. This one had been a knock-down, drag-out, teeth-bared, growling death match of a fight. Sam had watched, frozen for reasons he didn't understand, unable to interfere, as Dean tossed their dad around the room like a rag doll, finally ending up on top of him, teeth clenched and bared, saliva dripping onto the older man's exposed throat.

Sam had squeezed his eyes shut then, so he could never say for sure how his dad got out of it, but the next thing he knew Dean was locked in Bobby's panic room, and the next day John went in and returned with a much calmer, chastised-looking Dean, his older brother's head bowed in shame. The new collar, heavy-looking and rigid, just like John's, was secured around his throat. He looked uncomfortable and ran his fingertip between the material—some high-tech polyweave—for a moment before yelping and pulling his finger away like he had been shocked.

So yeah, Sam knew about the Collar Initiative, and four years later, when he came of age and presented as an omega, he was grateful for it; grateful for the heavy, chafing collars that bound his brother and father, and every other Alpha on the damned planet. Because the Collar Initiative was the only thing standing between him and…

Well. He didn't think about that. Didn't think about what nature had made out of the person he loved and admired most, what science had managed to tamp back down.

Dean, for his part, got used to the collar; wore it like a second skin. Or at least, Sam thought he did. He never fiddled with it, never strained his neck against it or gave any indication that he noticed he was wearing it. So there was no harm, really. And Dean was back to the brother he knew before the snarling beast that had appeared in the kitchen that day, that had dominated and had nearly killed John.

It was only Sam's age at the time, his lack of scent, lack of a defined role, that had saved him from his newly-presenting brother. He knew that, but he didn't like to think about that much, either. Because Dean before, and Dean now—collared Dean, he could never hurt Sam. Sammy. Never in a million years. So the collar wasn't so much of a punishment, a prison, curse; it was a blessing, a gift that had returned Sam's older brother to him.

So they grew up normal. And they learned to hunt. And Dean protected Sam. And Sam let him, because at least Dean wasn't trying to kill anyone anymore. Because it hurt Sam, as a brother and as an omega, to remember his older brother, his Alpha since John had died (though not his mate; he reminded himself of this a lot, especially the nights that Dean went out and didn't come back to the hotel until late, smelling of booze and another omega), so out of control and violent, acting out of rage and with sheer brute force.

And if occasionally, in the hunt, when Sam was in danger and Dean became more…powerful, more brutal, his scent wafting thicker through whatever space they happened to be occupying, that was fine, too. And if afterward Dean had trouble returning to normal and maybe John had to adjust his collar, and maybe Dean let out a yelp before some semblance of _human_ returned to his green eyes, well…that was okay; that was what was necessary. And if Dean seemed particularly docile in the days immediately following, his head low and his cheeks burning with embarrassment, his proud Alpha posture broken, well…Sam tried not to think about that, either.

And when Sam's heats hit, Dean saw him through those, never mating him, never dominating him, just holding him, keeping his scent and warmth close, enveloping him. And when Sam's fever went down and the pain and discomfort and the _need_ ebbed and they could finally untangle their time-tensed muscles and shower and get back to the hunt.

So Sam was content. And Dean seemed fine. So the Collar Initiative could only be, in Sam's mind, a good thing, and Sam wondered why it had taken them until 1963, when Alphas and omegas had existed since the beginning of recorded history, to implement it.

He couldn't imagine what it must have been like before…

Couldn't…until suddenly he could. Until suddenly he _had to_. Until suddenly that was _just the way it was_ again.

He was in their hotel room, field-stripping and cleaning their guns. Normally it was a task that Dean completed. The Alpha seemed to find comfort in keeping the guns serviceable, in managing the raw power and barely-restrained destructive force behind the tools. If Sam were a more poetic guy, he'd figure that they were some sort of metaphor to Dean. Dean was the gun's collar.

But Dean had been injured on the last hunt. Nothing major. It wasn't like they were going after a vampire or a pagan god or another one of the Big Bads. No, this was a ghost—a simple salt-and-burn. Or, it was supposed to be. Sam still didn't understand what had gone wrong. They had found the body; check. Salted it; check. Doused it in lighter fluid and lit the match; check. All checks down the how-to list of Kill That Thing Before It Kills Us that Sam kept in his head, but somehow it hadn't worked.

They had just turned away from the graveside, planning to grab a drink to celebrate a job well done and then head back to the hotel to get some rest before continuing on the next day to the next job. Lather, rinse, repeat. Straightforward and easy. Supposed to be, anyway.

The next thing that Sam remembered was Dean on the ground, his throat under Sam's hand, pushing down, _pushing_… "You're just an animal; always have been. Only reason I even let you stick around me is that _fucking collar_. I should put you down like the animal you are."

So it was Sam that injured Dean. Lucky it wasn't worse, really. The force that Sam was exerting should've snapped his windpipe. But ironically that _fucking collar_ had saved Dean. The lack of give in the polyweave, the metal filament that let the punishing shock travel through it when Dean's vitals arched too high, too fast, had taken the bulk of the force and Dean was left with a sore throat, probably a bruised esophagus, and that was it.

Well, physically, that was it. It would be a long time before Sam could erase the hurt he had seen in his brother's eyes from his memory.

_Just an animal…always…that fucking collar…put you down._

The words still echoed through his mind, his own voice stabbing him through the heart. He looked over to the bed, where Dean had flopped down as soon as they got back, turning his back to him and dozing off. Dean was trying to act like it hadn't bothered him. Maybe it hadn't. Maybe, because this was how Dean was, he agreed with what Sam said. That hurt Sam even more.

Because his brother wasn't _just an animal_ without his collar, any more than Sam was _just a bitch_ during his heat. It was a thought that nagged at him, at the peak of the fever, when his body was screaming out for an Alpha—_any_ Alpha—to take him, claim him, fill him, fucking knot and breed him. But outside of the fever, he knew it wasn't true. There was a lot more to him than his omega status. Same for Dean and his Alpha status.

The low light from the lamp beside Sam barely reached Dean, throwing his body into a landscape of sharply-contrasting shadows, the changing light from the television throwing him into sharp relief every few seconds. Dean let out a low growl that sent the hairs on the back of his neck bristling, and Sam narrowed his eyes, watching the rhythmic movement of Dean's back. The Alpha was asleep, definitely. So, a dream?

He glanced at the television, his eyes falling on the headline sliding across the screen.

**National Broadcast Warning**

It was repeated over and over again, and Sam could just imagine the shrill tone that would go with it if he hadn't muted the television in order to not disturb Dean. His mouth went dry as he waited for the message to start. The states each had their own emergency broadcasts, as did most counties and even some cities. So for a message to hit the National Alert System…it had to be big. Like, the shit they had dealt with during the apocalypse big.

The screen flashed and a pretty anchorwoman appeared, her mouth moving silently. Sam's eyes focused on the scrolling marquee at the bottom of the screen, taking in its new message.

**Power grid failure: Washington, D.C. announces a wide-spread failure in the power grid designated for the "Collar Initiative". All collars presumed to be failing. Citizens advised to avoid contact with or isolate Alphas. Assume that any Alpha is an immediate danger.**

Sam reached for the remote, heart pounding as he hit the button to restore volume.

"—scenes of terror captured on film beginning at 8:37 tonight, just three minutes after the power failure was detected," the anchorwoman was saying, and Sam could hear a slight tremble of fear in her voice. "For safety reasons, our station has not dispatched crews to acquire live footage and we again urge you to stay in your homes and away from any Alpha pack or family members. We take you now to the footage that was sent in just minutes ago."

The video was shaky enough to make Sam nauseous, but it was nothing compared to the twist in his stomach when the camera stilled and zoomed, and the contents of the video were clear.

Chaos. Complete and total chaos. Sam watched as a young omega, no older than sixteen was pinned down by a much-larger Alpha, the collar blatantly absent from his neck.

_Rape_. The word leeched its way into Sam's mind, slow and thick like mud. Sam was watching an omega, like him, get _raped_ on the streets on the eight o'clock news.

As he took in the video, took in more and more details, Sam realized with a violent lurch of his stomach that it wasn't just one. The background of the video featured _multiple_ Alphas mounting screaming, crying omegas. And one by one, each of them seemed to give up, go limp and complacent, resulting in a triumphant roar from their attacker.

_Assume that any Alpha is an immediate danger._

Sam's head whipped around to look back at the bed, and his heart nearly jumped into his throat at the sight that met him.

Dean was gone. In the space that he had previously occupied, Sam could see the familiar polyweave of his collar against the cheap floral motel bedspread.

Sam stood up quickly, trying to control his breathing, stepping carefully towards the closed bathroom door.

And if Dean was in there? Then what? He wasn't wearing his collar. The collars had failed. Dean was an Alpha. And Sam was to presume all Alphas were an immediate danger.

He considered grabbing one of the guns. But then what? Was he going to shoot his brother?

No. He knew, no matter what, he couldn't do that.

He took a deep, shuddering breath. He needed to leave. If Dean had gone to the bathroom, he was giving Sam his chance to escape. Sam tried not to think of what was on the other side of the room's door, what awaited him outside. He had to grab his shit and get out, lay low, wait for this to be over.

He turned around—

And found himself face-to-face with Dean.


	2. Part Two

**The Smell of Fear  
**Annaleise Marie  
_cross-posted from livejournal  
__username: girlgotagun_

**Part Two**

X

"Dean—" Sam's voice choked off almost as soon as he started to speak. What was he supposed to say? What even _was_ there to say in a situation like this?

Dean's lips twitched into a cruel imitation of a smile. "Sammy."

Sam took a step back, his heart thundering faster when Dean merely matched it, maintaining that less-than-six-inches cushion of air between them. Normally, Sam would protest Dean's use of "Sammy". Normally, Sam would push Dean away from him, tell him to stop fucking around. Normally Sam would do a lot of things.

But this situation wasn't normal, and Sam was at a complete loss. He acted on instinct, reacting to the smell of Dean—the smell of _Alpha_—filling his nostrils, and tilted his chin up slightly, exposing his neck. His instincts preened as Dean's scent increased, his eyes falling to Sam's neck, while Sam's mind screamed at him that what he had just done was _wrong, so wrong, a very bad idea_.

A low growl sounded from the back of Dean's throat and before Sam could even register the movement he was being slammed against the bathroom door, hard enough to send a jolt of pain through his spine, making his vision swim for a moment.

Dean's hand travelled up from where it had pushed at Sam's shoulder, the fingers splaying to wrap around his neck, thumb pressed against Sam's windpipe and the other fingers spread over the back of his neck, tangled in his hair.

"What was it you called me, Sammy?" Dean asked, his voice deathly quiet, the low, commanding timbre combining with his scent to make Sam want to agree to anything he said. "Just an animal? _A fucking animal to be collared?_ Something like that, anyway." His thumb rubbed against the swell of Sam's Adam's apple, smirking when the omega swallowed hard. "All these years…all these years wearing that _fucking_ collar, letting it change what I am… All these years protecting you… Just to have an omega—a _bitch_ speak to me like I'm below him." He laughed, the sound not reaching his eyes as he studied his brother. "I'm gonna show you a fucking animal, Sammy."

Sam had seen a lot of things in his life; had been scared shitless more times than he could count. He'd faced demons, witches, vampires…if it walked, fed, or shit on this earth, he had seen it, and each time he swore he couldn't possibly be more scared. Hell, he'd been at this his whole life—twenty-four long years now—and he still felt his heart pick up, his guts twist, on the occasional hunt. But it had been nothing like this.

Sam was actually terrified. About-to-sob _terrified_. Of Dean. And that ludicrous thought coupled with his panic nearly sent him into hysterics; would have, if Dean hadn't chosen that moment to hurl him violently onto the bed.

He landed on his back, the wind knocked out of him, and before he could react Dean was on top of him, pinning his body beneath his weight, his hands coming to grip hard at Sam's wrists, slamming them down on either side of Sam.

"Thought about this before, you know." Dean was talking again, and Sam tried to focus on his words; as long as Dean was talking, he wasn't completely gone. He needed to keep Dean talking. "Thought about taking you, _claiming you_, marking you up all pretty. Thought about it when you hit your first heat. Thought about it every time since. Thought about tying you and _breeding you like a bitch_." The last words were growled out through Dean's teeth. "But that fucking collar…that fucking collar you love so much. You know what it does to me?"

Sam swallowed hard. "It shocks you." His voice was small, fragile, even to his own ears. The voice of an omega trying to calm an Alpha.

Dean sneered. "Yeah, it shocks me. Shocks me any time I think about taking what's rightfully mine; doing what I have a right to do as a _fucking Alpha_. Well the fucking collar doesn't work anymore, does it Sammy? So now I'm going to put you in your place. Show you that you're my bitch. Make sure you know that _you don't get to decide if I'm worthy or not_. That's _my_ right. My birth right as Alpha. And I'm going to take it. So be a good little bitch and let me."

With minimal effort, he flipped Sam onto his stomach, and Sam finally let out a strangled sob when he felt Dean's fingers hook into his sweatpants, pulling them down along with his boxers to expose the omega's ass to the cold air. The Alpha's scent peaked again, probably in response to Sam's distress, and Sam felt his body begin to stop taking cues from his brain, his limbs becoming heavy and his head hanging down as Dean guided him onto his hands and knees before pressing between his shoulder blades until Sam's chest was almost touching the mattress.

And maybe it was the Alpha pheromones that hung thick in the air; maybe it was some long-buried secret that Sam had carefully hidden even from himself. But in that moment, Sam realized that he wasn't terrified of what Dean was about to do to him. He was terrified of the way Dean was acting. Terrified of the out-of-control Alpha, not of getting fucked by his brother.

And deep in the pit of his stomach, Sam felt hatred and disgust for himself beginning to blossom, because he could feel it starting, slick beginning to pool in his body and seep out at the thought of Dean—of his older brother, his non-mated Alpha—fucking him.

Sam knew Dean could smell it; simple pack biology and physiology made that assumption a guarantee. But that didn't stop the burning shame from washing over him when he felt Dean chuckle harshly and his brother's body slid down to inspect Sam's tight hole.

"See?" Dean's hands gripped the cheeks of Sam's ass hard, roughly pulling them apart. "Such a good little bitch. Wet and dripping for me already, despite your fear." Dean's thumb rubbed over the sensitive, puckered flesh and Sam tried, really tried to resist throwing his head back and crying out, tried to resist pushing his hips back to find more pressure from the digit. God, how he tried. But he failed. "That's right, Sammy. That's how it's gonna work. I want it, and I'm going to take it, and you're going to give it to me because _I'm your fucking Alpha._"

And Sam knew, in that minute, that his brother was right. He was going to stay there and take it, because he was an omega—a bitch to be fucked by an Alpha—and that's what his body was commanding him to do.

Dean drew back and Sam could hear him moving around, undressing, and then there was something thick and hard pressing against his entrance and he knew, just knew that Dean was about to—

He screamed, his mind finally overcoming his body at the sharp, tearing pain as he was ripped apart from the inside and he struggled, clawed at the bedsheets, his legs working frantically to get away. Strong hands tightened their grips on his hips and held him still as Dean's scent strengthened once more.

"Stop." The voice was all command, low and thick, and Sam couldn't help but obey, his body stilling even as tears streamed down his face. God, it hurt.

Sam had imagined his "first time" a lot over the years. The life they led didn't exactly mesh well with trying to find a mate, breed, and raise pups, but still, he had thought about it, craved it. But none of the times he had imagined had been like this. In his mind, his Alpha mate had been more…

"We're not supposed to be tame little toys for you to fuck around with." Dean was fully-seated in Sam now, but was remaining still, like he needed to say this before he commenced with fucking him. "But we're not supposed to be like this, either. This is what you did to us. Punishing us for our natures, humiliating us with those fucking collars. This is what _you made us into_."

It was faint, maybe Sam was even imagining it, but it sounded like there was a pleading note in Dean's voice, and that, even more than the physical pain of being split open with no preparation or care, finally broke Sam. He let his head fall to his forearms and nodded, letting out a nearly-silent whimper.

And then Dean began to move. He pulled back, nearly pulling out of Sam completely, and then slammed back in, bottoming out with a force that knocked the breath out of the omega and set his barely-calmed nerves on fire once more. He screamed, no longer trying to get away but needing to let out the energy that the pain sent surging through him. And still, under the harsh, overwhelming fog of pain and fear, there was a hint of _right_, of pleasure, of completion. Despite the pain, something in the baser parts of his being recognized this, _wanted_ this, wanted to be tied with his Alpha. Sam's body flushed with shame when a small moan broke free from his throat.

"That's right, bitch." Dean's voice was a deep, feral growl now, every other word punctuated by a deep, punishing thrust that hit some spot in Sam that had him twisting his fingers in the sheets, pushing back slightly against his brother's hips with a gasp. "You like it, don't you? Like my thick cock inside you, filling you up? Gonna like my knot even more." Dean chuckled at the startled gasp that issued from Sam. "That's right. Gonna knot you. Mark you, too. Make sure that every other Alpha you meet knows that you're _my bitch_."

Dean was no longer really thrusting, more grinding his hips against Sam's ass, his cock deep inside his brother. "This is how it's supposed to be, Sammy. This is what we're supposed to be like. Both of us. That fucking collar isn't just cruel to me."

Sam thought about answering, wanted to, but Dean's knot was swelling now and all other thought was obliterated as the Alpha tangled his hands in his hair, yanking his head back, and sank his teeth into the flesh between the omega's neck and shoulder. The knot was pressed against Sam's prostate, rubbing and massaging it, and Sam felt more full than he had ever imagined, more complete.

He screamed as he came, more slick gushing from his body, seeping around the knot and dripping down his thighs. He felt Dean tense as he released the flesh from his mouth, a mighty roar breaking free from his throat as he came, releasing wave after wave of his seed deep inside Sam. Sam felt Dean filling him, felt the wet warmth, and his baser self cried out with joy, with the _rightness_ of it.

They collapsed, tied together, and Dean positioned them on their sides, his arms wrapped protectively around Sam.

"No Alpha can ever fuck you like that when they're wearing that fucking collar." Dean's voice was quiet, rough, muffled against Sam's shoulder, but the omega heard it just the same.

And for some reason, that idea made him sad.


	3. Part Three

**The Smell of Fear  
**Annaleise Marie  
_cross-posted from livejournal  
__username: girlgotagun_

**Part Three**

X

They were still laying there long after Dean's knot subsided and he slipped free of Sam. Sam was afraid to speak, afraid of what kind of reaction his words might cause in the Alpha. They needed to talk, clearly. But well, _collared_ Dean hadn't been a huge fan of "chick flick moments", as he called them. Sam couldn't imagine how uncollared Dean would react.

"Stop it." Dean mumbled, sounding half-asleep. He ran his hand over Sam's hip, down and back up, and it was a moment before the omega's confusion ebbed and he realized that Dean was trying to comfort him with the touch. "Your scent. The fear is putting me on edge."

Sam nearly laughed. _His_ fear was putting _Dean_ on edge? His brother had just claimed him, against his will, in a brutal and violent show of force and domination and _Sam_ was putting _him_ on edge?

"Makes me think someone's threatening you." That sleepy mumble again. "Don't like it."

"Christ, Dean." Sam huffed and rolled over to face his brother, who loosened his hold for a moment to allow the movement before wrapping his arm around him tightly again. Sam surveyed the Alpha, the high cheekbones and strong jaw, broad shoulders, bright green eyes hidden behind fatigue-darkened lids and long eyelashes. Dean had always really been too pretty to be an Alpha, in Sam's opinion. Not that he would ever say that to Dean; he had no desire to have his nose broken, after all.

"You know I don't think all of that about you, right?" It had been bothering Sam since before…what he had said when the ghost had possessed him.

"Yeah."

"Really."

The Alpha stretched, releasing his hold on Sam as he arched his back. He settled back down and rested his head on his open palm, his lips twisted in a bitter smile. "I know. That spirit…it wasn't feeding off of your thoughts. It was throwing my own back at me, from the person that would hurt me the most if they said it."

Sam let this sink in. "You…want to die?"

Dean scoffed. "No. If I wanted to die I'd've been gone a long time ago. It's more…" He sighed, shaking his head. "Wearing that collar…it makes you feel less-than-human. Like an animal who needs to be controlled. So after awhile, you start to believe it. You start to resent what you are." He searched Sam's face for signs of understanding and then sighed again. "You omegas and betas would never get it." He fell back, staring at the ceiling.

Sam was quiet for a moment, letting this information sort itself out in his mind. He glanced at his older brother, _his Alpha_, for real now. "When you said that the collars are cruel to both of us…"

Dean shrugged. "You liked being unmated, Sammy? Empty all the time? Twenty-four years old without taking a knot? Not carrying even once?"

The Alpha was playing on Sam's omega instincts, he knew that, but still he felt the words land, felt the pit they seemed to open in his stomach at the thought of everything he was lacking.

"The way we move around… Never had time or…" Sam's flimsy explanations were cut off by Dean's rough laughter.

"If it weren't for the collars, Sammy, none of that would matter. You hate hunting, always wanted to settle down. If an Alpha could've mated you—not just taking you on the streets, but still really mated you—you could've had all of that a long time ago."

The last sentence jogged Sam's memory. "Those omegas in the streets…"

"The fucking collars again." Dean huffed. "Not right but, I mean what do you expect when you suppress an Alpha's nature all his life, then suddenly cut him loose, full-force?" He shrugged. "That's what I meant. It's cruel to build all of that up in Alphas, to force them to resist it, let it fester. It's also cruel to let an omega go their whole lives without _really_ knowing their Alpha. Even the mated ones don't really know them if they're wearing a collar. And then if the collars go off-line…" Dean waved towards the television, as though the footage were still playing. "It's cruel to make an Alpha live with what they did, or an omega live with what happened to them."

Sam frowned at the vulnerable edge that had crept into Dean's voice at the end. "I don't hate you, Dean."

"You should." Dean's eyes met him, and Sam could practically see the self-loathing swirling in them. "You should hate me. You should want to run away from me and never look back. But you can't. We're mated and you're stuck with me, and you couldn't leave if you tried."

Sam sat up, pulling his knees up towards him and hugging them loosely. "Wouldn't try." He reached out hesitantly, raking his fingers through his brother's short blonde hair. "I don't hate you for this, Dean."

There was a shrill beep and they both jumped, looking around. The sound repeated, every five seconds, until Sam finally located the source under the bed—Dean's collar. He lurched at the sight of the flashing green light along the inside of the band. It must be back online.

He sat back down, the collar clutched in his hand. He couldn't decide if he wanted to toss it out the door into traffic or just find some way to break it so that the beeping would stop. But he knew one thing for certain; there was _no way_ he was putting it back on his Alpha.

"It's law, Sammy." Dean spoke as if he were reading the omega's thoughts. "The Collar Initiative instituted penalties for a presented Alpha not wearing his collar."

Sam's eyes locked on Dean's neck, his chest tightening when he noticed, for the first time, the faint scarring that ran across the flesh from years of uninterrupted wear, shocks, and chafing at the skin. He shook his head. "No way."

"Sammy." Dean's voice was gentle as though he were trying not to spook his omega, but it carried the stern undercurrent of an Alpha's command. "I have to."

"I don't want you to." Sam's voice was thick, his throat tight. "Don't want you to be hurt anymore."

Dean sidled closer, his hand over the collar in Sam's now, and rubbed his face against his omega's. "And I don't want to lose you." He pulled back and took in the look of horror on Sam's face. "Didn't you learn the penalties in school? If an Alpha is caught without his collar, if he somehow manages to get it off, his omega is assumed to be in distress and danger and is taken from him."

Sam's heart felt like it shattered into a million pieces. "So it's the collar…or me."

Dean nodded, finally pulling the collar from Sam's grasp. "And I don't know about you, Sammy, but I'd rather go through life with the collar than without you."

"It won't be the same," Sam muttered, watching darkly as Dean refastened the collar, covering the evidence of its abuse.

Dean knew what he was referring to. He shook his head. "Not usually, no." Then he flashed a mischievous grin at Sam before nibbling gently at his shoulder. "But if you're really good, Sammy…next time you go into heat I'll let you take it off."

**The End.**  
_I hope you enjoyed it! :)_


End file.
